


Sleeping with the Enemy

by BookAddict219



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slytherin Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookAddict219/pseuds/BookAddict219
Summary: Y/N has come to Hogwarts under unusual circumstance, armed for a task she is not sure that she's ready to complete. When fate (and bad judgement) brings her and a certain redhead together, she must choose between her duty, her best friend, and the Weasley twin that refuses to leave her alone.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Reader, Fred Weasley/Original Character(s), Fred Weasley/Reader, Fred Weasley/Slytherin Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	1. A Fondness for Broken Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction so bear with me. This is an AU that occurs after the Goblet of Fire, during the events of the Order to the Phoenix. No hate, please. But if you like it, let me know and I will continue adding to it.

Despite being filled with the sounds of chattering students and the clinking of dinnerware, Y/N found the so-called Great Feast to be a very dull affair. She nursed her pumpkin juice, thinking longingly of the bottle of firewhiskey upstairs in her dorm room, until she felt the reassuring squeeze of a familiar hand. Y/N reluctantly pulled herself out of her sulky state to come face-to-face with a pair of concerned, gray eyes. 

Are you okay? they seemed to ask. 

Y/N forced a smile. Draco looked at her pointedly, then shrugged, returning back to his conversation with Crabbe and Goyle.

“If what Potter says is true,” Goyle began in rather slow whisper, bits of treacle tart plastered to the side of his mouth. “And the Dark Lord has actually returned, what does that mean for us?”

Draco sighed. Clearly, he was not pleased to be going through this conversation again for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Y/N was sick of this discussion as well but for an entirely different reason. If she wanted to spend her days discussing corrupt governments and rising dictators, which seemed to be the only topics of conversation in this remote castle, then she would have stayed in America. Although, she reminded herself sullenly, returning home to the stony shores of Britain had not entirely been her own idea. 

While Draco recited the rehearsed response given to him by his father again to the questioning idiots, Y/N busied herself by partaking in the ancient pastime of people-watching. As her eyes searched the room for signs of intelligent life, her attention was caught by a pair of bobbing red heads over by the Gryffindor table. It seemed that the Weasleys twins were up to their usual nonsense. 

Y/N watched with a smirk on her face as Fred Weasley transfigured his golden goblet into a large, amber-colored spider and placed it on the seat next to his younger brother. The younger, Ron, had briefly given his fork a break and had come up for air from his dinner, resting his tired arm on the table. The spider, whether by nature or the twins’ design, took this as an invitation to begin to crawl from Ron’s rested arm to his freckled neck. 

The next few minutes were filled with girlish squeals and roaring laughter from the other side of the hall. Ron had fell back out of his seat in an attempt to rid himself of the arachnid, thrashing and screeching as he did so. His friends, Granger and Potter, were attempting to calm him long enough to properly dispose of the creature. From Y/N’s position at the Slytherin table, she could see the top of Potter’s dark hair as he struggled to hold down Ron’s flailing limbs. Granger, on the other hand, was standing above them both, her wand at the ready. 

Meanwhile, the entire Great Hall had ceased their conversations to gawk at the most recent outburst from the Gryffindor table. Y/N noticed that Draco’s debate with Crabbe and Goyle had also come to an abrupt close. Y/N tore her gaze away from the Weasleys’ shenanigans long enough to catch a glimpse of Draco. His dark eyes hovered towards spot where Potter’s hair was visible. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have too. As students stretched in their seats in order to get a better look at the spectacle, Y/N laced her fingers back through Draco’s empty hand in a silent gesture. He took a deep breath then adverted his eyes from the unfolding scene. 

Dissimilarly, Fred and George were basking in the success of their wonderful prank, accepting high-fives from surrounding students at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. The celebration only ceased when Professor McGonagall, who had descended from the professors’ table with a basilisk-like glare, had seized George by a freckled-ear and began pulling him out of the hall. Fred, who would be damned if he let his twin suffer such a fate alone, took one last bow and followed his brother out of the Great Hall. However, he wasn’t the last to leave. Following the twins exit, a tiny witch in a pink dress slowly rose from the staff table and made her way to the exit. That’s not good, Y/N thought. 

“Filthy blood traitors,” Millicent Bulstrode mumbled beside Y/N as the twins left the hall. Y/N’s eyes quickly snapped to Millicent’s toad-like face. “Careful, Bulstrode,” Y/N said slowly. “Their blood is purer than yours.”

Millicent’s face turned an ugly shade of red as the surrounding Slytherins crackled under their breath. Tears filled Millicent’s eyes and Y/N began to feel something resembling pity for the toad-faced half-blood next to her. It wasn’t that Y/N particularly cared about blood status. Despite growing up with the fanatical ramblings of Lucius Malfoy for the better part of her life, she didn’t feel as strongly about the widely debated topic as her fellow housemates. Her indifference could’ve been attributed to her time in America; a simpler country where blood status was of very little importance because there were no purebloods to be found. Or perhaps, she was simply more culturally evolved than her current company. However, she admitted, the later was most unlikely. 

Following Fred and George’s interruption, the noise level in the hall had quickly returned to normal. This meant the return of pestering questions about the future of Slytherin house in the wake of the Dark Lord’s return from Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle, who was continuing to talk despite the large piece of pumpkin pie hanging from his mouth, whispered something to Draco that Y/N couldn’t hear. She looked at Draco; he had gone quite pale. 

“Can you both please attempt amuse yourselves with any other topic of conversation,” Draco exclaimed rather harshly. “For instance, the growing obesity rate or how difficult it is to shovel food from the plate and into your mouth without most of it ending up on your face.” He looked sharply at Goyle. 

He had begun to shake. His eyes flashing dangerously under his pale blond hair. Crabbe and Goyle immediately quieted and recoiled in fear as if Draco were about to stand up in the middle of the Great Hall and start throwing out jinxes. Normally, Y/N would have welcomed anything to bring a bit of excitement to her current somber state. While the Weasleys’ act was quite amusing, she hadn’t had a good fight since she had returned to the UK and Draco was never one to disappoint her. There was nothing like the thrill of a good duel. No civilized bows and niceties that were so very common to European wizards, but a good wizards’ duel. All wands and curses and the heat of palpable magic in the air. 

However, despite her thrill-mongering, she saw the truth beneath Draco’s thundering. The fear in his dark gray eyes as they shifted restlessly across the hall like a those of a frightened animal. The way his fingers, which had still been laced through Y/N’s, had suddenly found themselves pulling at his left sleeve, making sure that his forearm was completely covered.

Y/N put her hand on his shoulder and the shaking ceased. She moved her fingers to his back and began to draw small circles on the fabric of his jumper. As his breathing began to return to normal, Draco pushed his relatively cleaned plate aside, kissed her forehead and started a conversation with Warrington about Slytherin’s chances at beating Hufflepuff in the upcoming quidditch match.

It had been like this for as long as they both could remember and nothing, not even five long years apart, could change it. Not that their relationship was anything remotely romantic; although, by the jealous glares Pansy Parkinson was throwing Y/N at the moment, you could not tell that. Pansy was not alone in her assumptions. Most of the school believed that Y/N and Draco were secretly dating or, at the very least, sleeping together. This amused Draco, who would make it a point to grab Y/N’s hand in the halls on the way to classes in order to get giggles from nearby girls or high-fives from passing boys. Y/N learned to just smile and take the attention in strides.

It was not that she didn’t love Draco. She did. Sometimes he was the only thing in the world that made her feel like life was actually worth living. It was all-consuming love. An unconditional love that would have them both willing to help the other bury a body if it ever became necessary. But not a romantic love. It helped immensely that this feeling was most-assuredly mutual. This was ever-present in his incessant flirting with anything that qualified as remotely human. Draco was not shy in the slightest, and despite having a quiet infatuation with a certain dark-haired, scar-faced wizard, he spent the majority of his days chasing snobby Ravenclaw girls or freckled-faced Hufflepuff boys. 

Y/N, on the other hand, had only been at Hogwarts for a little over a year, despite being almost sixteen. She had no time for such fancies. She was here for a reason. Although, thinking about that reason made her heart beat faster and her stomach turn. “I’m going to go,” Y/N mumbled to Draco, untangling their fingers. His eyes searched hers for a brief second before he nodding and turning away. 

She left the hall in a bit of a rush. She made her way through the entrance doors, turning left to head downstairs towards the dungeons and the Slytherin common room. She was halfway there when she spotted the back of a familiar red head. Fred Weasley was sitting on the stairs, his crimson head resting against wall. Y/N immediately looked around for any signs of a mischievous plot afoot. In their own way, the Weasley twins were like wolves. One must always have eyes on both of them. Lose sight of one and there is a good chance that you’ll find yourself cornered, being bombarded with water balloons. 

“Weasley…,” she began cautiously, her eyes darting around to make sure that the other twin wasn’t going to come out of nowhere and blast her with a Bat-Bogey Hex. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Black,” Fred replied in a strained voice. He turned and attempted what Y/N believed was supposed to be a smile. His face was strained with pain while his left arm cradled his right hand. 

Y/N stopped in her tracks. It seemed that Umbridge had had the last word in the twins’ little prank in the Great Hall. Y/N took one last vigilant look behind her before taking seat on the step next to Fred. She looked at him slowly. Beads of sweat raced down is freckled face, his stormy blue eyes fixed on his feet. Y/N watched his chest rise and fall in a slow but controlled manner like he trying very hard to keep himself from crying. 

Y/N didn’t know why but she could always tell the difference between Fred and George. While to most each twin was synonymous with the other, to her, the acknowledgement of the differences between the two was more than just a matter of respect; it was a matter of intelligence. Fred was obviously more outgoing than George. His eyes shined a bit brighter than his brother’s, especially when mischief was afoot. And while his Quidditch skills weren’t as outstanding as George’s, he showed more compassion both on and off the pitch; choosing to fight harder to win rather than resulting in cheap shots. 

“While I understand than I am stunningly handsome, Miss Black, I am sort of concerned that my good looks have caused you to stop breathing,” Fred remarked with a forced sort of laugh. Y/N, being rudely brought back to the present, made a noise somewhere between a snort and a cough.

“Not even in your dreams, Weasley,” she mumbled.

She looked at his injured hand. The words, I will not cause disruptions, was scratched into his pale skin in ugly, bloodstained letters. The cuts were deep. Apparently Umbridge had felt that Fred needed to do multiple lines in order to understand the message. Y/N wondered if the cuts would heal before the twins were up to their usual tricks again. Probably not, she thought. 

“This,” Fred, noticing the direction of her gaze, made a motion to his cradled hand, “This is nothing. I had a filibuster firework go off in my hand once. Mum said I was lucky to still have all of my fingers.” Fred was talking mostly to himself. His head rested on the wall. 

“I can help with that,” Y/N offered. Fred’s crimson head slowly rose from it’s resting place. His gaze fixed on her; suspicion filled his eyes. Y/N looked down at the serpent insignia on her robes. It was amazing how something that seemed so small and insignificant to her could cause such division in this foreign place. “Or you could just stay in pain,” Y/N said, that anger that she fought so hard to control came bubbling up to the surface. “See if I care.” 

She made a move to get up, her face reddening with anger and embarrassment. She was almost down the staircase when she felt a hand on the left sleeve of her jumper. She quickly tore her arm away from him, more out of fear than anger. 

“I’m sorry,” Fred said quickly. He slumped back down on the staircase. He was in really bad shape. Y/N hesitated, then slowly sat next to him. Draco had always said that she had a soft heart when it came to broken things. 

“It’s no use,” Fred mumbled feverishly. “Even Madam Pomfrey said there was nothing to do for it but ice it and wait for it to heal.”

Y/N took his hand and examined it. It was warm and wet from inflammation. Fred shivered. Y/N had seen this kind of magic before. “Well…” she started slowly. “You should never ask a saint to do a sinner’s work.”

Y/N knew from examining his wound that the quills that Umbridge had been using in her detentions contained a dark and ancient form of magic. Knowing this, she thought it unlikely that any conventional spell would be able to reverse the effects of the curse. Luckily for her, and the redhead beside her, Y/N was anything but conventional. 

“I can fix it,” she began slowly, moving her dark hair out of her face to look back into his eyes. “But I need you to trust me…and I need you to keep quiet about it. I don’t intend on becoming this castle’s new healer, nor do I have the bedside manner to do so.” At this, Fred nodded a bit cautiously. After he gave his consent, Y/N’s attention returned to his hand. She didn’t pull out her wand or even make a move to do so. She simply wrapped her hands around his. He squirmed. “It’s okay,” she whispered. She didn’t know who she was trying to calm.

She had done this a thousand times before. But sitting here in the middle of the castle, in a land that was all but alien to her and with boy she barely knew…it was enough to set anyone on edge. After covering his hand in hers, she began to chant. Softly, at first. So soft that Fred could hardly hear her. As her voice rose, he realized that she wasn’t speaking English but some sort of Latin spell. The torches around the pair began to dim as her voice rose higher and higher. The sounds from the feast above seem to grow silent. Magic crackled in the air like sparks in a hearth. Their joined hands began to pulse and glow with a soft, golden light. And then…it was over as quickly as it had begun. The flames in the torches surrounding the two seemed to had risen back to their full height. The noise from the Great Hall above echoed in the stairwell once more. 

Y/N forced herself to look at Fred’s face. She decided to take in one feature at a time in order to postpone the look of fear that was most likely present there. His color had come back. His cheeks flushed with red. His lips, that had almost been blue before, were now very pink and sporting a ghost of a smile. Y/N met his gaze. His blue eyes were not as stormy as before and were now filled with…not fear but something else. 

Fred let out a harsh breath that pulled Y/N out of reprieve. She looked down at their entangled hands and quickly pulled hers away, standing up to move onto the other side of the stairwell. Fred inspected his hand. There wasn’t a mark on it. Not even a scar. 

“How…,” he began. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Y/N responded quickly. “We’re not speaking of it again, remember?”

His gaze shifted from his hand to her face. It wasn’t fear she saw in his bright eyes but confusion, shock, and…gratitude. 

“Y/N…,” he made a move to stand. 

“Don’t mention it,” she pushed passed his outstretched hand and hurried down the staircase, refusing to look back. Y/N returned to the Slytherin common room and spent most of the rest of night sitting in an armchair, staring at the same page of her textbook for hours. Her fellow housemates had come back from the feast, and slowly emptied the common room as they headed to bed. Eventually, only Draco and Y/N remained.

Noticing this, Y/N decided that she had most undisputedly earned a drink her actions this evening. She went to her room, grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey from under her bed, and returned downstairs. Draco was waiting. His Nimbus 2001 was stretched out on the floor next to him and a cleaning kit was in his hands. The sound of a bottle opening diverted his attention from his work.

“I’m starting to worry that you’re becoming an alcoholic,” he muttered darkly. 

Y/N poured the amber liquid into a nearby glass. “You’re only an alcoholic if you start drinking alone,” she smirked. “And look,” she walked towards him and thrusted the glass into his hand. “You’re drinking with me.” She took a long swig from the bottle. 

The next few hours were spent in quiet contemplation of the night’s events. Draco didn’t want to talk about Potter or the upcoming war or that thing that was tattooed to his arm. And Y/N decided that she wouldn’t be able to take lecture on her irresponsible use of her powers that would most assuredly occur if she told Draco about the Fred incident. Instead, they stayed silent. Y/N fell asleep a couch in the middle of the common room, wrapped snuggly in Draco’s arms as she thought about the way Fred’s hand felt in hers. She awoke to a pain in her left arm as her dark mark seared in agony.


	2. Control

Y/N stretched out on her back. Her dark head rested on Draco’s chest while her bare feet brushed the sun-soaked grass that surrounded their picnic blanket like the sea surrounds a distant island. She had left her sunglasses inside and was attempting to shield her eyes from the sun’s glistening rays with the pages of her book. Draco, as usual, had found himself unable to stay even remotely still or quiet. During the past hour, he alternated between playing with Y/N’s hair, talking (mostly to himself) about the day’s upcoming Quidditch match, and doodling what Y/N could only assume was Potter’s name over and over again in the dirt. 

“I wonder what he looks like without his glasses,” Draco said as he twirled a piece of her hair.

“Who?” Y/N asked annoyed. She was sure she knew who he was referring too but was highly irritated that he was interrupting her reading to ask her daft questions. 

“Who do you think” he sneered jokingly. 

“I’m going to go out on a limb,” she paused thinking. Her stalling was getting on his nerves and she knew it. Y/N smiled. “…and say probably like Harry Potter…but without glasses”

“You’re impossible,” he laughed as he fell back onto the blanket and started drawing in the grass again. She had always loved the sound of his laugh. It was rare and musical, so very different from the false barking sound he made when he told a nasty joke or made a cruel comment. 

“That’s me,” she smiled sarcastically, returning to her reading. “Miss Impossible.” They quieted for a few minutes, each content in their own endeavor. 

“If Ned Stark dies, I swear to Merlin, I will go back to America if only to hunt down this sadistic writer and turn him into a dung beetle,” Y/N mumbled to herself as she turned the page; the motion causing the sun to momentarily pierce her eyes. Draco wasn’t listening. She sighed and closed the book in order to sit up and face him. His smile had faded. “What are you doing?” she rolled her eyes at him. Slowly, the pale-headed boy pulled his eyes away from his drawings in the dirt to find hers. 

“I think that I have earned the right to wallow in self-pity for a bit,” he stated placidly. Y/N put her hand on his cheek as she had done just hours before and thought back to the events of last night. 

***

Y/N had awoken, still wrapped in Draco’s arms, to a searing pain in her left forearm. She struggled to her feet; sleep still attempting to pull her back into it’s dark embrace. She turned to find Draco doubled-over on his side, his face strained in pain. Something’s wrong, she thought, her breath coming in short gasps. “Really? Didn’t notice,” Draco groaned, his face pressed against the pillows of couch. She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud. The pain of the mark and the drowsiness from her lack of sleep had her mind swimming in a pool of confusion. Her senses were overloading. She couldn’t breathe. Somewhere in her murky waters of her mind she heard something crash to the floor. Draco had fallen off of his place on the couch, beads of sweat dripped from the side of his head and onto the carpet. She couldn’t see his face. 

As Y/N made her way to Draco’s side, she struggled to get her breathing under control. She collapsed. The left side of her body cried out in pain as she crawled towards him. What to do? What to do? What to do? The words ran through her mind in a continuous fashion that made them lose all meaning. She was almost to him when she suddenly cried out. It seemed that Draco’s glass from their previous night of drinking had crashed to floor with him and shattered into pieces. Her stomach turned as her gaze found her mangled hand. Blood and bits of glass protruded from the wound. Black dots filled her vision as she tried to make sense of what was happening. She took a deep breath. The left side of her body had become completely immobile. Her Dark Mark continued to pulse with pain and, a few inches below it, her injured hand stung with the slightest of movement. As her blood dripped to the floor, her vision came back into focus. Blood, she thought dully. What had Dumbledore told her about blood? 

Her scattered mind thought back to a conversation that seemed a lifetime ago. “Blood is power,” he said, his wizened voiced crackled like the hearth before them. “Blood is life and death. Something that binds us to our ancestry and our progeny…it’s no surprise that many of our kind believe it to be the source of our magic and something to be revered.”

Blood, she thought again as she reached Draco. She moved her right hand to her injured one; the crimson liquid felt warm to her touch. Symbols flashed in her mind. Ancient drawings, long forgotten, from archaic grimoires passed down from a time before wands became the new fashion. As her fingers became her quill and her blood became her ink, Y/N began to draw the symbols that now flashed before her eyes onto her arm, just above the Dark Mark. As the pain began to subside, she turned her attention to Draco. After repeating the ritual, Y/N slump on her side; her head resting on Draco’s shoulder. His color was coming back. 

“He’s angry,” Draco whispered, his breath rustled her hair as he spoke. She whimpered in pain. Her hand was still bleeding. She was weak and felt as though she had used more magic in the last few hours than she had since she had come back to Britain. “It’s okay,” Draco soothed. It wasn’t. As he reached for his wand in order to mend her hand, her fingers found his cheek. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”  
***  
“And speaking of self-pity,” Draco muttered under his breath, pulling her out of her reprieve. Y/N followed his eyes. Potter, Granger, and Weasley were making their way across the grounds; their heads bent in deep conversation. When the trio neared the entryway to the castle, they stopped and sat down on the grass. Potter moved to rest his hand on Weasley’s shoulder. Y/N felt Draco tense beside her. Something seemed to be wrong. Weasley’s freckled face was wet, his nose dripped dribble onto his shirt. He certainly was not a pretty crier, Y/N thought to herself. Draco made a move to get up. Apparently, gawking at Potter was not on today’s agenda.

“Come on,” he said as he made to pull the picnic blanket out from up under her. “We’re leaving.”

“Hey! I’m not finished with my book,” she screeched at him as she tumbled onto the grass. “Get up,” he commanded and pulled her to her feet. Y/N grabbed her book off the ground and began to brush the grass from her dark clothes, muttering curses under her breath. As they made their way to the castle, Y/N struggled to keep up with Draco’s long strides. She was panting from having to almost jog to stay at his heels. 

“Slow down, you git,” Y/N called out to him. She tripped. As she brought herself to her feet, a slew of profanities on her lips, she came face-to-face with Potter, Weasley, and Granger. 

“Potter,” she nodded awkwardly. “Fancy meeting you here.” She made a move to leave. Weasley was attempting to wipe the tears and dribble from his face. Besides the flaming hair, Y/N could hardly believe that him and the twins were related. Ron’s face was babyish and spotted where Fred’s had been smooth and chiseled, with only the dusting of freckles to mark it. The thought of Fred made her palms start to sweat and her heart beat a bit faster. She turned and found herself facing a very displeased Draco Malfoy. 

“Potter,” he said, looking over Y/N’s shoulder and into the dark-haired boy’s green eyes. 

“Malfoy,” Potter replied. 

“Black,” Y/N mumbled, feeling left out. Draco looked at her, a highly exasperated expression on his face. 

“We were just leaving,” Draco muttered. He grabbed Y/N’s arm and attempted to pull her away. 

“Death Eater dealings to tend too, I presume,” Weasley said, his voice cracking. He was no longer crying. His face flushed red with anger. And here we go, Y/N thought. Draco was the first to lunge, wand completely forgotten. He crashed into Weasley. Punches were being tossed around by both boys, the majority of them failing to connect. Draco grabbed Weasley by the neck and pinned him to the ground. Potter, seeing Weasley’s distressed, kicked Draco in the ribs causing him to cry out. 

“Excuse me, Granger,” Y/N said, pushing the bushy-haired girl out of the way. She jumped onto Potter’s back and sent the both of them tumbling to the ground. The next few minutes were filled with elbows and fists, punches and kicks until a harsh Scottish voice yelled, “THAT IS ENOUGH.” McGonagall marched over as the brawlers broke apart. Granger began tending to Potter and Weasley’s wounds as Y/N examined Draco’s blackening eye. “Well, that was fun while it lasted,” she smirked.

“In all my years,” McGonagall shrieked as the pair pulled themselves to their feet. “Detention. Immediately. All of you, go! And 50 points each will be taken from both of your houses.”   
Next to her, Draco had paled. “But, professor,” he started. “Slytherin’s match starts in an hour! If I could just–” “Absolutely not, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall stated firmly. “You should of thought of that before you started brawling like common miscreants.” Draco quieted. His dark gray eyes burned like embers as he watched a smirk form on Potter and Weasley’s faces. 

Hours later, the Slytherin common room was filled with streams of slightly-inebriated students swaying to the beat of the Weird Sisters’ latest album. Draco, who had been in a sour mood since the fight (and subsequent detention), had orchestrated what Y/N could only describe as a night of pure debauchee in an attempt to atone for missing the match. Despite lacking their seeker, the Slytherin team had managed (probably through a great deal of cheating) to beat Hufflepuff and Draco was desperate to make everyone forget that he wasn’t there help. He was doing a good job, Y/N thought to herself as she sipped her butterbeer and watched as Pansy Parkinson led a Hufflepuff boy up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. Y/N sat at the edge of the festivities, careful not to get too close to the action. In spite of the cheer in the room, a gloom had begun to settle over her like a dark shadow. 

“What are you doing?” Draco said as he sat down next to her; a smile played on his lips as he admired his handywork. Clearly, he was feeling better, Y/N thought as she watched him sway drunkenly. The party was in full swing. Butterbeer had been passed out to anyone who didn’t already have a drink in their hand, and someone had snuck down to the kitchens because biscuits and cauldron cakes now littered the counters. The room was filled with the sounds of music and laughter as students danced to the melody. A Ravenclaw girl and a Slytherin boy were making out on one of the nearby couches. Y/N was worried if he stuck his tongue any farther down her throat then he would accidently swallow her. 

“Self-medicating,” Y/N answered, waving her glass in his face. He rolled his eyes. She forced a smile at his exasperation and began to scan the crowd again. A flash of flaming red hair caught her attention. Her breath caught in throat as she attempted to zero in on the source but whoever it was had quickly faded back into the crowd. Y/N tried squash the feeling of disappointment that bloomed in her chest. She had not seen Fred Weasley since the night before but he had rarely left her thoughts since then. There was something about being clustered together in the dark stairwell as magic sparked around them that made the experience hard to forget. Not that they had much contact in the past. She had always found him and his twin quite amusing. Their thirst for chaos seemed to almost mimic her own at times. But she had never spoke much to either of them and both had a deep mistrust of Slytherins. 

“You know, you turn into a terrible bore when you get in one of your moods,” Draco muttered, bringing her attention back to the present. “Do you even remember what fun looks like,” He pointed at a tawny-haired Ravenclaw boy who was dancing nearby. The boy turned, raised his glass to them and smiled. “Because that is fun.”

\“I don’t particularly like blondes,” Y/N mumbled, a real smile had begun to form on her lips as she ruffled Draco’s pale hair. “Besides, I think he’s more your type than mine.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Draco said with a disappointed sigh. “He’s good friends with Hannah Abbott. She’s here somewhere. Forgive me if I don’t want to get hexed again by that little minx.” His eyes darted around. “I don’t know why she hates me so much,” he mused to himself. 

Y/N laughed. “Well, you did shag her in one of the Quidditch locker rooms and never talked to her again.”

“No, I shagged her brother in one of the Quidditch locker rooms,” Draco corrected. “I kissed her at Warrington’s back-to-school party last term and…okay, I see your point.” Y/N snickered again. “I’ll keep an eye out for Hannah if you want to try your luck,” she offered as she nodded to the Ravenclaw boy. 

“I love you,” Draco smirked devilishly. He kissed her forehead before making his way over to the boy. “I know,” she replied softly but he was already too far away to hear. As Y/N made her way through the crowd, she kept an eye out for Hannah. Y/N didn’t think that Hannah would make a scene in the middle of the Slytherin common room but Draco did have an affinity for falling for the crazy ones. Take Potter for example, Y/N thought to herself. She didn’t know what he saw in the scar-faced wizard besides the fact that he was totally and completely off limits. But maybe that was part of the appeal, she mused as her thoughts began to wander back to Fred. She got another drink. It was her third…no fourth…no…did it really matter? It was only butterbeer. She smiled to herself. As the warm liquid burned in her throat, the gloom that had settled in her chest was starting to fade again. 

A flicker of red caught her eye again. She turned and came face-to-face with a pair of stormy blue eyes. Her smile faded as her eyes instinctively searched the room for Draco. If he found at about last night…she would most definitely have some explaining to do. She grabbed Fred’s hand and quickly led him out of the common room, stepping on a few partiers’ feet in the process. “If your back for seconds, dear Weasley, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you,” she said rather sarcastically. Once she reached the hall, she turned and looked at him. For a moment, they stood there, not quite close enough to touch. Y/N could hear the sounds of the laughter and music echoing in the hallway of the dungeons. She tore her gaze away from Fred’s to scan the scene for the eyes of prying professors or drunk partygoers. She knew that the underage drinking, premarital sex, and who knows what else Draco had planned for the night, would likely be received with the same sentiment from the Hogwarts staff as the less than traditional magic she had performed the night before. 

After assuring herself that the coast was clear, she returned her attention to Fred. Her spell had worked wonders, if she did say so herself. Fred stood before her, a picture of health. His crimson hair glittered in the torchlight; the fine golden strands that were mixed in with the red becoming more pronounced. His blue eyes were dark with determination as he wiped the sweat from his brow. As his cheeks flushed with color, she watched the way his pale arm, strengthen from years exertion from grueling Quidditch matches, brought his hand to rest on the back of his neck. She remembered how that hand had felt in hers just only last night, when they sat huddled together in the darkness as magic filled the corridor. 

“I…,” He searched her eyes, pleading. “I need a favor.”

Her eyes hardened as an involuntary, almost manic laugh escaped her lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Please,” he begged. “It’s George. He’s not getting better. He’s in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey insists that there is nothing to be done except wait…they’ve sent an owl to my parents...something about the curse reaching his bloodstream…” he faltered. 

Her heart immediately went out to him. Umbridge must have spelled these quills under a blood moon for their magic to be so potent. If the curse had made it to George’s bloodstream then it wouldn’t be much longer. He most likely had only a few days, a week at most, left before his poison reached his brain. Even then, it wouldn’t be a peaceful death. Y/N briefly wondered how Umbridge would explain such a thing to the Ministry but had no doubt that somehow, some way, she would be able to do so. Fred was still watching Y/N’s face as if she were a locked box that he had been told not to open but he was desperate to find a way in. He stood there asking a girl, who most would view as his enemy, for help. However, despite his distress, there were no tears in his eyes. Just stony resolve. If that wasn’t the bravery of a lionheart, she didn’t know what was. Nevertheless, she couldn’t risk her mission, her life, or, even worse, Draco’s life to play nurse to the Weasley twins. She was here for one purpose and that purpose was likely to her killed at best and a whole bunch of others killed at worse. She knew what she had to do, even if she didn’t like it.

Y/N plastered a haughty, fake smile to her face despite not being able to meet his eyes. “I’m going to with no…but thanks. Your faith in my abilities is very flattering,” she responded curtly. She started again, intending to walk past him and back into the common room, when he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. She bristled, caught off guard. With a twitch of her free hand, she sent a shock through Fred that had him scrambling backwards. Y/N took this opportunity to escape, making it halfway down the hall before Fred’s words halted her progress.

“What if it was Malfoy?” Fred yelled at her. She turned to look at him. Her breath came in rushed gasps. She was losing control. “What?” she breathed. “Draco, I mean,” Fred started again. “What if Umbridge had hurt Draco? What if it were him in the hospital wing right now?” he finished. 

She started towards him, her hands crackling with magic. “I would personally burn that human Pepto-Bismol bottle at the stake before I’d let her touch hair on his head,” she spat. To Fred’s credit, he didn’t flinch away. He simply looked at her, the determination that she had admired just minutes before remained in his darkening eyes. There was something else there too. A fierce loyalty, a quiet desire for revenge, a need for chaos that mirrored that in her own eyes. 

“Well…I was thinking of something little bit less dramatic,” he smirked. “Mum still refuses to let George and I play with matches and I’ve never been very skilled at pyrotechnic charms,” he shrugged. “Although, I wouldn’t get in your way if your wanted to try.”

She bit her lip in an attempt to keep a straight face. Her anger had disappeared as quickly as it had come on. Could he never be serious? But the tenacity in his eyes had remained constant. “Please,” he whispered again. Her eyes met his; her thoughts sobering. “Don’t make me regret this, Weasley,” she whispered back. He smiled slightly, turning on his heels as he did so to walk back in the direction of the hospital wing. It was like walking with Draco. For every step he took, Y/N had to take two. She was out of breath by the time she made it up the first landing.

It was late when Fred and Y/N arrived in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be found. From the smell of dung bombs in the air, Y/N assumed Fred had ensured that they wouldn’t be disturbed. They would have to make this quick. George was lying in the only taken bed in the room. Y/N suddenly understood why Ron was crying earlier. George was deathly pale; his chin was stained red like he had been coughing up blood. He showed no sign that he registered the pair entering the room. Fred rushed to his brother’s side and put his hand on his forehead like he was trying to take his temperature. 

“You can fix him, right?” he said to her. Y/N walked to the boy’s bedside. If not for the slow, irregular movements of his chest, she would’ve thought he was already dead. This would take a lot of magic and she wasn’t quite sure that she would have enough. She also wasn’t sure why she was willing to risk it for a boy she barely knew. But one look into Fred’s pleading eyes and she had her answer. He looked at her with all the faith in the world. The only other person who had ever done that was Draco.

“I can try,” she whispered. She took George’s hand; she was conscious of Fred’s eyes on her the entire time. She took a deep breath and began to softly chant the words to the same spell that she had used the night before to heal Fred’s hand. Fred watched as lights in the room began to dim as her voice rose higher and higher. The burned smell of magic filled the air and made it hard for him to breathe. Fear filled his heart as his eyes returned to Y/N. She was pale and shaking. Blood flowed from her nose and onto her shirt as her lips whispered the words of the spell. 

“Black, that’s enough,” Fred rose to his feet and made his way to her. “Stop.” He put a hand on her arm. With a flick of her spare hand, she sent Fred flying across the room. He smashed against the wall and cried out, more in shock than in pain. “I can do this,” she whispered breathlessly, pulling her eyes away from George to look at Fred. Her eyes, Fred thought. They were no longer the chocolate-colored irises that he had grown accustomed to looking for in crowds. Instead, her eyes seem to burn an unearthly gold. Fred attempted to move towards her again but the force of her magic kept him pinned to the wall. She had lost control. “I can do this,” he heard her fanatically whisper again as she returned her attention back to George and resumed the chant. 

A soft, golden light flowed from her hands to George’s. The twin’s color had started to return. His chest moved at a steady rhythm as his breathing returned to normal. Just a little bit more, Y/N thought. Cuts appeared on Y/N’s wrists as her stamina began to fade. She fought the urge to cry out as black dots filled her vision. With her attention diverted, Fred attempted struggle out of his invisible bonds. And then…it was over. As the torches rose to their full stature once more, Fred felt the invisible chains that bound him fade away. Y/N rose to look at him; her eyes had returned to the same dark brown that they had been when he had met her in the Slytherin common room earlier that night. She was pale and bleeding but a triumphant, cocky smile had formed on her lips before she collapsed. Fred rushed to her side. He picked her up and laid her gingerly on the bed next to his twin’s. 

“Black, are you okay?” Fred whispered as he moved her dark hair out her eyes. “Y/N…” he whispered again. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered sleepily. “I lost control for a bit at the end.” She smiled like, despite the spell almost killing her, it had been a hell of a good time. Fred sighed, relieved that she was at least well enough to joke about it. He got up and began to rummage through Madam Pomfrey’s supplies in order to find something to bandage Y/N’s wounds. The pair sat in silence as Fred dressed the cuts on her wrists, neither really knew what to say.

“Freddie…” a voice from the bed beside them murmured groggily. Y/N fell back into the pillows of her hospital bed as Fred turned his attention to his brother. George looked like he was slowly waking up from a long, pleasant dream. His cheeks, which had been white as a sheet just minutes before, now flushed red as he yawned. He stretched and attempted to sit up.

“Easy, there, Sleeping Beauty,” Fred warned. “You need rest.” 

George smiled drowsily. “Don’t have to tell me twice, little brother,” he mumbled as turned over on his side and began to snore softly. Fred watched him worriedly. 

“He’ll be fine,” Y/N assured as she struggled back into a sitting poistion. “The spell took. I’m sure of it. Otherwise, it probably would have killed him,” she mused. Fred turned to look at her sharply.

“Only joking,” She attempted a smile. “Mostly,” she muttered to herself.

“Thank you,” Fred whispered. His eyes searched hers as he approached her. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or nerves that made his hands shake as he walked around his brother’s hospital bed to sit by her. “Yeah. Yeah,” she tutted, not looking at him. She felt weak and sick, but attempted to muster some of her usual sarcasm. “The next time I’m charging you, Weasley. And, believe me, you can’t afford me.”

“It’s Fred. Just Fred,” he laughed. The sound made her heart race and her foot begin to tap in a nervous gesture. 

His hand rested on her arm; their faces were so close that she could feel the heat coming off of his body. Why was he always so warm? she thought as her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes moved down his face to where, even in the midst of all of this fear and pain, a ghost of a smile still played hide-and-seek on his lips. His grip tightened on her arm. The embrace was not enough to hurt her but enough to bring her back to her senses. If not for the glamour on her arm, he would be able to look down and see his fingers wrapped around her Dark Mark. 

“Weasley…” she trailed off, not sure where to start or what to say. He moved closer to her; his eyes bright. His hand began to make its way from her arm to brush a dark curl out of her face. “Fred…” she whispered warningly. 

“What the bloody hell is going on here,” said a panicked voice that made both Fred and Y/N jump apart. Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway of the hospital wing clutching a bleeding arm. And he looked anything but happy.


End file.
